Chronicles of Fear
by Scarecrow 65118
Summary: He is what's left of Jonathan Crane. This is how his psyche was shattered and he came to be the Scarecrow. Nonvalerse... or whatever.
1. My Humble Beginnings

In this story, dear reader, I shall tell you about the past and present state of The Scarecrow. I have decided to write down his story. From his childhood up until this very second.

* * *

October 1987.

An eight-year-old boy and his mother were packing ripped shirts and jeans into garbage bags. The mother looked around timidly as she did. She was a tall woman, with hay colored hair and bruises down her body and face. Her eyes, in earlier years were the deepest blue, but had now been turned pale by time. Her bony hands worked swiftly as she packed away the rest of her child's things knowing that he was most precious to her.

Their house was to say the very least rundown. Roaches skittered here and there, occasional rats would steal food, and fleas were everywhere. They lived in the slums of Gotham, and gunshots were usually heard at night as you might imagine.

She heard a car door slam outside and quickly pushed her son into the closet. That's when _he _stumbled in. He was a burly, fat man. His eyes were fogged over by the poison of vodka and his breath reeked of alcohol and prostitutes. He said nothing as he brushed past his very timid wife and into the bedroom. He stared at the garbage bags full of clothes then turned to her a look of pure evil on his face.

"Your not thinking about leaving me are you?" he asked, his words were slurred and they poured out of his mouth like the muck from a sewer pipe.

"N-no dear! O-of course not!" she said in defense raising her hands.

He slapped her across her face. "You lying bitch." he said coldly. The man reached for a rusty kitchen knife on the counter.

"Where's Johnny?" he asked over the cowering form of the woman in the corner.

"H-he's gone! F-far away from you!" closing her eyes tight.

"Oh, are you afraid?" he said putting the blade to her cheek, slicing inwards, and drawing blood. "I'll show you true fear!" he said raising the blade high above his head. The woman screamed in terror as he brought it down on her shoulder narrowly missing her neck. He then proceeded to cut her wrists and legs. After about a half hour of this, he grew tired. He cut her throat and stabbed her hand to the wall then went to bed. Like it had never happened… but it did.

Johnny saw it. Every bit of it. He'll never forget it for as long as he lived. His lanky body was shut up in the closet like a cage and across from him was his mother, the only person that ever cared about him, slumped over, her hand still nailed to the wall.

Johnny sat in a feudal position, too scared to move, or scream or even think. He sat there, scrawny knees near his head, looking at his mother as roaches slowly started to crawl up to her.

………………………………

* * *

It had been three days since Johnny emerged from his little cage. He was still staring at his mother's slowly decomposing body when the police blew down the door. They looked around the house weapons drawn; a man with a commissioner's badge noticed the body first.

"Dear god," he cringed at the site of her, "Search the house for evidence." The commissioner slowly opened the door to the closet, and there sat a skinny, yellow haired, blue-eyed boy, scared out of his wits. He extended a hand. The boy was reluctant at first.

"Son we want to help you, I'm Commissioner Gordon, what's your name?" he asked in the nicest way possible.

"J-Johnny."

"Alright now where's your dad?"

Before Johnny could say something else Gordon's walkie-talkie crackled to life, "Commissioner Gordon we have another body in the bedroom. He's covered in blood but with no wounds. Over"

"Roger that Rodriguez, can you tell what he died from?"

"From the smell of him, probably alcohol poisoning. I think we have our killer."

"I think I have his son. Out."


	2. My Lovely Childhood

Johnny sat on the edge of his bed, legs dangling. He had the pleasure of getting top bunk in room thirty-seven of the Happy Camper Orphanage. Johnny was ten now, and anything but happy. Sure he was sad for his mother's untimely fate, and that he had been abused by his own father. No he was sad for the sick twisted assholes who called him names and beat him, and sad for himself, because he just stood there and took it like a rag doll. He rubbed the bruises on his arm and opened a copy of Alice in Wonderland, and turned it to the part when the Cheshire Cat told Alice that everyone is mad.

At that time a little girl poked her head in the door. She had her curly, orange hair poked up into pigtails. Her big blue eyes only made Jonny's heart al the warmer, and the way her smile was formed he could tell the girl was all to happy to see him.

"Hello Alice." Jonny said, waving.

"Hi Johnny, would you read me a story?" The blonde couldn't resist. She was, after all, his only friend. Factor in the fact it was pouring buckets outside and she was cuter than Labrador puppy sleeping with it's head propped up on a bunny's back, how could he say no?

"Well… okay. This book is about a girl named Alice who- "

"Like me!" Alice piped up. Alice was always known as a shy girl. Jonathan took several moments to acknowledge this, then began reading again.

"This story is about a girl named Alice. She sees a white rabbit and decides to follow it. When she follow's it into the rabbit hole she falls down into a place called Wonderland. Here she meets the Cheshire Cat." he said The Jonathan read on from where he left off.

"You won't have to worry about that.' The Cheshire Cat said. We're all mad here. I'm mad, you're mad."

"Johnny what's mad mean?" Alice asked with the look of utmost curiosity on her face.

"It means that someone is crazy." Jonathan said, her befuddled look said that she still didn't understand the new word.

"Johnny what's crazy mean?"

Well, she was only seven…

* * *

Jonathan Crane was sad. It had been two years since Alice had been adopted. His only friend in the whole world had left his life. Never before had he felt so… empty. She had moved far away to Chicago with her new "family."

How he longed for one. Someone. Anyone! Jonathan was alone, and he had no friends, no family, no one to love, to cherish, or even have meaningful conversation with. Life itself was now naught but a desolate island.

All of these thoughts sped through the blonde's head as he waited for his chemistry test to be handed back to him. Mrs. Carison was a sweet lady, never mind that her husband had died only a year ago in a car crash.

Her son Sylvester sat idly beside him. He was fiddling with a combination lock, after a few tries he had the lock successfully opened and was now jotting down notes on a post it. After he folded it up and put it in his pocket he twirled his pencil with one finger while day dreaming about whatever. Jonathan had to admit, Sylvester might not be a math whiz but the kid was better with his hands than Slow Hand.

"Good job Jonathan." Ms. Carison said. She handed back the test paper with a great big one hundred smiley face on it. Schoolwork was the only thing that he cared for anymore. He looked back to the smiley face that was meant to cheer him up.

Pathetic.

Crane felt something hit the back of his head. Instinctively he reached back and felt the gooey texture of a spitball. While gross, he shrugged it off like a mosquito bite, then felt the cold sting of a hornet piercing the skin on his neck. That nearly made him yell in pain but he swallowed the scream. He'll have his revenge.

* * *

It was the end of the seventh and final period, Jonathan was putting away his math book when Trevor Rivers came to his locker. Trevor was a jerk, through and through. He'd take your money, steal your girlfriend, threaten your mother, and leave you to rot in the janitors' closet. Ever since the start of sixth grade Trevor had vowed to make every moment of Jonathan Crane's life a living hell.

He started by slamming the locker on Crane's hand, then a punch to the face. The action bloodied Crane's nose and he stumbled back. Then he tackled the blonde child, knocking him to the ground. He lashed out punch after punch on the poor boy. It was a full twenty minutes before anyone pulled Trevor off.

The principal noticed something…

Jonathan Crane was out cold.


End file.
